Help, I'm Alive
by UmiUmiSumi
Summary: [A/N: No longer updated, incomplete. See Story Notes in last chapter.] A broken soldier with a death-wish has the painful experience of being given a reason to live. Boone/F Courier
1. My Heart Keeps Beating Like a Hammer

**Hey all. This is my first time writing a Fallout fic. I know that the Boone/F Courier pairing is all the rage right now, and maybe this isn't the most original idea ever, but I got the bug real bad to write something with these two.**

**Just as a note, there is a bit of stream-of-consciousness going on in this part. I'm trying it out and mixing it in and around straight narration. **

**Please review if you like! I admit to being as in love with feedback as everyone else, and it helps give me that extra push to write the next part.**

-SL

* * *

He woke up, finally, as they settled down in Freeside, first night there.

Which was not to say that he hadn't been walking around, scrapping about the Mojave desert, shooting any man or beast that threatened them for the weeks between now and that moment when he had completed the task that he had devoted all of his thoughts for a year, maybe longer. All with her help of course. Wasn't sure if he was happy for that, but his mind had stayed mercifully numb, quiet, since then.

Perhaps it was being out near familiar places, or the proximity to the Strip, or perhaps she was finally getting to him for some reason – maybe all of the above, really. That would make the most sense. Regardless, that part of him that thought about anything besides stark survival had enough napping and woke up disoriented – after all, it had last been with him somewhere in Novac – to the sound of the squeaky, well-used and likely abused springs on a queen-sized bed with faded red blankets that had sex stains dating back to before the bombs fell.

He looked towards the sound – this is how he knew that he was awake and he nearly said 'Fuck' aloud for it – he responded to her presence there with him and that was that. Sidelong glance, turn of the head slightly and the sight of her as she unlaced one dust-grayed boot paying him no mind.

His heart thudded hard against his ribs, smells familiar and new assaulted his senses.

He was awake, alive.

And, god damn it all, it hurt to be alive.

* * *

Years of keeping it all bottled up was the only reason he could think that he'd been able to calmly stow his arms and gear, tuck his shades into his hat neatly on a nightstand and excuse himself to 'get cleaned up' and get safely to the sanctuary of the bathroom without completely imploding. He wasn't sure if he were to melt into a puddle of human-emotion goo or go into an utter fugue of destructive rage on the room if he had failed making it those five minutes, but he found a small corner of relief that he had spared himself the humiliation of losing it in front of the girl.

Girl… woman… whatever…

The door closed behind him too loudly. He twisted the shower tap on to full blast then allowed his body to collapse to the floor and buried his face in his hands. Blinking away tears and taking short, heaving, harried breaths he allowed his re-emerged emotions a tiny glimpse of daylight before he held his breath a few times and focused on the dingy blue and white wall tiles in front of him, willing them back down, at least to the point that the near-fever level of anxiety and pain dulled to that familiar old deep ache. A few more ragged ins and outs, a squeeze to the eyes with the backs of his hands to deny that there had been anything more than irritation from the fine irradiated dust of the wastes, and he was back up. Best take that shower, who knows how long this dump's hot water will hold out for.

Boots thumped to the floor, dirty shirt, dust-soaked fatigues (they used to be green once), and the singular feeling of scalding hot water shot to skin was all he knew for the next five seconds. Oh fucking thank you, the silence in his brain was the closest thing to heaven he could imagine, and he stood there perfectly still with nothing but the sensation of the hot rivulets cutting paths down his naked body and the din of falling water and gurgling drain.

Ok, buddy. Take a step back; how did you get here again? Good question…

His mind was back up and running; the hot water 'reboot' had done wonders to reorganize his mental priorities – baby steps of reason and fact were one of his well rehearsed mechanisms for beating back emotions that threatened to consume him, and rote actions edged out the want to wander back into memories that he wished he didn't possess. Fact check, go; routine bathing, commence.

Novac. Started at Novac. Move forward, dodge unpleasant memories, though satisfaction from taking that goddamned bitch's head off… no… Just an accomplishment. Goal of two (my god has it been two years?) years, reached, and then what did I have? Guess I didn't get to think about it because then she came back again (shit she'll give me crap if I use all the hot water I just know it.)

He paused in his thoughts. Her. It's all her fault nosey busybody pushy… no no no, not pushy. Persuasive, calculating, but not pushy.

Could've stayed there, could've gone on my own, kill those Roman wannabes to the last one or my last breath, but what was it? She did that … thing where it just made sense to do what she suggested. Hasn't been bad… been over the goddamned wasteland for six weeks; she kept us moving from here to there following side-tracks and back on the trail of that guy she's looking for… what's his name?

"Benny. You know anything about a guy named Benny? Nice suit, clean, kind of a douchebag?"

He heard her ask again in his head, from that first night he met her, when she was too stupid or too brazen to know better than to sneak up on a sniper at watch – he's nearly blown her head clean off. Funny thing was she seemed to know he wouldn't, calmly moving the long barrel of his rifle away from her face with an upheld finger. That's when it started. That's the first time she became a red light in his mind, something that was different enough. That's why he asked for her help.

She'd been quick about it, and only two nights later he was jolted out of his nightly watch-trance by the flash of his own red beret, and the sound of her voice, sweet as plum pudding saying, "Golly, Jeannie May, I'm sure I dropped my room key over here. You're a doll for helping me look for it."

He'd almost laughed, but he was busy aiming. Jeannie May's head was in many, many pieces before she could blather any reply.

She then walked away from the body like it wasn't any concern of hers and up the stairs to the top of the dinosaur, and in the course of five minutes revealed what she'd found to convict the batty old motel manger of selling his wife off to Legion slavers, explained that she had some business up at the old REPCON place up the hill, and that he ought to tag along with her for the fun of it. Well, at least that's how she made it sound. His head was still spinning from it when he went down to get his crap from his room, and spun right around again when he found her dragging Jeannie May's body down towards the bridge.

"I could have done that, you know," he gruffed when he caught up with her, grabbing the old woman's right arm while the girl had the left and heaved the dead (literally) weight up over the cracked cement railing and heaved the body down into the ravine. It landed with a satisfying thud.

"Eh, I felt like it. Thought it would be a nice 'thank-you' for that smart red beret you gave me," she nodded upward with a smirk at the extra First Recon beret he'd given her (it was honestly all he had to give her for her efforts, and was happily surprised when she seemed thrilled to have the old thing.) He recalled that she hadn't taken the thing off except to sleep and bathe since he gave it to her, snorting with amusement at the realization.

He also noticed that she kept it tugged over a pink, freshly-healed scar along her hairline. Girls hate scars, or at least Carla did—

Damnit.

Anyway…

He couldn't decide if he should laugh or puke when he saw that she had also carefully collected the bits and pieces of skull and brain from his shot of vengeance into an old paper bag and was now emptying them out down to where the body had fallen.

"Well that's … thorough," was all he could manage to say, and she nodded back with a smirk, and produced a Legion machete from her rucksack, wiped its edge on the blood-soaked bag bottom and tossed it down as well. "Cunning, too. Though the Legion isn't that sloppy about leaving stuff behind."

"They don't know that," she replied with a thumb towards the sleeping town of Novac. "C'mon, we gotta go turn some dirt over the blood, then we can go."

He stood there and watched her saunter back towards the mound in front of the dino, utterly confounded. He hadn't the fortitude to make heads or tails of what had just happened, so he pushed it all down and let it sink into the directionless mire that was his heart and mind. Leaving him only with the instincts of a soldier, which bade him follow command and follow the gun, he set himself to marching in step to the closest thing he had to a C. O.

And lead him she did. Six weeks out in the Mojave, running this way and that way, shooting monstrosities, men, mammals, all loosely tied around her tracking down this Benny fellow. Who he was, exactly, he never asked, didn't really care as the tasks of the road kept his mind occupied with staying alive and helping her help other people along the way – some, because they were bribing her to do their laundry with what they knew about Benny, others completely out of this strange desire she had to just… be kind to people.

At first it had annoyed him, and even now it still did a little, especially when she tried to help some ungrateful scummy wastelanders that he knew would never be grateful… but they just made her deeds shine all the more brightly. He knew he was coming to trust her as more than just a voice to give order to his shattered world. And he knew if she kept up this way, he would even admire her.

Shit…

Why can't we just run in the Mojave until I die? Why'd we have to stop… I want to run and shoot and feel nothing but the heat of the desert and know nothing but my orders to follow and bury those memories under irradiated dust.

The water shut off with a squeak, and he stood there staring, again, at the tiles in front of him, at nothing.

Feel that heart beating like a hammer.


	2. Queen and Jester

I just want to thank everyone for the reviews and story alert sign-ups. It's nice to know that someone's reading.

Having said that, here is chapter 2 - wanted to make it longer, but I'm trying to keep the chapters a reasonable length. I'm really trying to do away with my bad habits one by one. =)

* * *

He knew she could smell it. Smell it, sense it, whatever – she'd pick up on the change like a nightstalker to movement in the darkness. This was one thing he'd learned about her from their time traveling the wastes these past weeks, that she possessed some sort of radar for nonverbal cues that gave her insight into those around her. He was sure it also helped that she played her cards close to the chest – he didn't really know anything about her besides tidbits here and there when she was shaking people down for information about Benny, and what he picked up from observing her as well. After all, he wasn't without his own skills in perception gained from watching people through the scope and being generally more of an observer than an engager. But she definitely had a gift for it beyond what he could do. Maybe he was a little envious of this, too.

What he wasn't sure of was which of them would take the first step to break the ice, which he knew was inevitable now. He was beginning to find himself with questions for her that he hadn't cared to ask before and was having difficulty keeping out of his head, and he knew that she was the curious type.

As he dried his face and head with a threadbare towel another thing occurred to him: girl's as curious as a cat in a kitchen, and slick as a snake… she's talked NCR, wastelanders, powder-gangers, and everyone in between into spilling their guts. Hasn't talked to me about anything else besides the weather and what to shoot and what's for dinner. Weird.

She's gotta be waiting for something… but why? And… fuck it, stop thinking about her.

He pulled his fatigues back on, throwing his belt over his shoulder and rinsed out his dirty shirt in the sink with what was left of a sliver of bar soap left on the lip. He wrung it out, and threw it over the shower curtain rod to dry. With one last deep breath in privacy he opened the door.

She nearly knocked him over – she'd been waiting at the door with her arms crossed and he grabbed the doorjamb to steady himself and will down the anxiety in his chest. Damn stupid…

"Jeeezus, Cour, don't do that!" he spat out, stumbling out of her way to see her sheepishly shrug back an apology.

"Sorry! Oh holy heck, I have to pee!" she shut the door and the lock popped closed. He sighed and sat on the edge of the bed, regaining his composure.

"You went in the shower so fast I didn't get a chance to go, and the one in the lobby is possibly radioactive," he heard her echoey voice continues from inside the bathroom.

He snorted.

Never know if she's going to carry herself like the queen or like the jester. Definitely the queen with those Legion bastards, or more like a black widow with a gun… There you go again, leave it off with her!

But she's so… different.

So what? She doesn't need you with her, you know.

Yeah… I guess she doesn't… handles her firearms as well as any NCR vet I know, knows her way around the wastes and what trouble to get into and what to stay out of… though I really haven't seen her actually stay out of trouble. What does she want with me anyway?

He heard the john flush and the door popped back open soon afterward, and she emerged looking relieved, even smiling as she made an exaggerated sigh of contentment. He didn't look over at her, busying himself with cleaning his rifle as he did every night, but snorted again.

Ridiculous.

"The shower here any good?" she asked in passing as she picked up her .357 to join him in the nightly cleaning ritual.

"Not bad. Hot water's good for about fifteen," he replied. This was the usual sort of banter that struck up between them, usually at camp, though at other lulls during travel:

"_What did you think of that shot I took just then?"_

"_You know anything about cooking gecko meat?"_

"_Know anything about constellations?"_

"_Wasn't that guy back at the outpost a dick?"_

"_What on earth can we get around here for firewood?"_

And it would just go on from there. Nothing much personal, nothing important. But they did talk. Granted, at first it was mostly her, but after the first couple of weeks he grew into a comfortable back and forth routine with her. Now that he was thinking about it, it was kind of nice – and it usually helped keep his mind from wandering to where he didn't want it to go.

Except for today, when I'm thinking about every goddamn thing all at once.

"Heh, I'll take that to wait till' morning and not take a half-hour shower," she smirked across the bed at him over her shoulder. Little jab jokes were normal too; as were his snorts back.

"Unless you like a cold shower. In that case, it's all ready for you," he replied without missing a beat. Continuing the joke back was new, only in the last week. Of course, now that he was paying attention to it all he had the realization that he was opening up to her ever so slightly. He suddenly longed for last week when he didn't think about what he was doing, he just did. This was certainly all going to get messy. He knew that well now and it caused the pins in his gut to thrash about in anticipation of those unwelcome emotions and memories.

You don't visit them, they come visit you – just like obnoxious relatives. Fuck.

She chuckled at him before she reassembled her pistol with a smart snap of metal on metal. He felt the bed shift in the familiar way that told him that she had taken a reclining position. Glancing over his shoulder, he was almost (almost) taken by surprise at her snuggled up with her new toy – her very own sniper rifle, pinched from the armory of that irradiated vault they went to before arriving here (oh man he didn't want to have to taste another dose of Rad-X for a long, long time after that…) She was cleaning it lovingly with a rag and working at jammed parts with a little oil and a screwdriver with a look of delighted concentration on her face.

He couldn't help but turn a corner of his mouth upward a bit at the sight.

She's good company. That I can't deny.

Something settled him a bit with that thought. The pins in his gut stopped dancing for a bit.

First grounded thought all night.

* * *

"Hey Boone, you think you could give me some pointers with this thing?" she asked after a long while in comfortable silence, "I'm familiar with the scope from my Carbine, but the weight's really unfamiliar." She paused to experimentally peer into the loading chamber as she cocked it, taking extra care to make sure it was as unloaded as she thought it was. "Big shells too," she said more to herself than him.

He turned from where he had finished cleaning his rifle and sized up the situation before responding. Women were sometimes just too petite for the higher caliber rifles, and the .308 packed a serious punch even for smaller men. But she wasn't by any means a small woman, and though he was aware of her figure, this time he really looked: not taller than average, broad shoulders, hips full, heavy in the thigh… not fat, just meaty. Sturdy bones, definitely not shopping in the petites like Carla…

"Sure," he grunted before his mind could race off with him again, and willed himself to keep talking to keep it that way. "You're a pretty decent marksman already, and I think your frame can handle the kickback. Though, you'll probably do better crouched or prone to steady the barrel," he told her with utter professionalism.

"Hm," she scrunched her mouth in a thoughtful frown, bobbing her head as she considered what he said. "I'm big, but not that big. Ok, that's fair."

"Wasn't trying to offend you," he replied, regretting opening his mouth at all now.

"I'm not," she said gently, "I know what I am and what I look like. Couldn't do what I do if I were a cute little thing. I'm sure I could do some other interesting things with that…" she trailed off, amusing herself with the idea of being a delicate flower.

"Anyway," she said, tucking the rifle carefully next to the bed, "I'd really like a lesson when we're back out in the Mojave – don't really think there's a high-power range tucked in this lil' suburb."

"Sounds good," he mumbled back, not looking at her anymore lest his thoughts returned to what Carla was shaped like and liked to wear.

The bed squeaked again as she stretched and then heard the zipper on her pants rip down loudly and the bed shook a little as she shimmied out of her pants as she did every night before she settled in. "I'm ready to call it a night. Think you could hit the light over there? Oh man is it good to sleep in a bed for once…" she muttered as she flopped her head onto the pillow and gathered to up with her arms.

He got up and flicked the light off and suddenly found himself at an impasse. Rather than ask, he grabbed the other pillow off the bed and kicked his boots out of the way to make a Boone-sized clearing on the floor.

"Um… what are you doing?" she said sleepily when she heard him rustling around.

"Moving my stuff, what does it sound like I'm doing?" he replied, sounding more annoyed than he wanted to.

"Are you really going to sleep on the floor?"

"Yes?"

"Pity's sake, Boone… I don't have cooties. It's a huge bed."

No response.

"Ok." She turned over again, "Well, I'll let you know how awesomely I slept in the morning. Mmm mmm mmm, this is cozy…"

Damn it all.

In the dim light that came in through the window he could see her curled up on the far side of the bed, back to him. He was always thankful that she kept a pair of shorts on under her leather pants, but he stood there, realizing that she was still pretty much in her underwear and here he was half-naked and trying to fathom all of the conflicted feelings running through him at that moment. He sighed and decided to just make a decision.

He pulled another tee shirt on and climbed onto the bed, keeping to the edge as close as he could without falling off. He could have sworn he heard her snicker. He didn't care – somehow that made it better. Somehow.

* * *

Familiar sky, dusk, clouds and dust in his nose and eyes. Wipe sunglases on shirstsleeve, feel the grass prick at his cheeks and neck from where he sat crouched as still as a stone waiting. All so familiar…

Here they come, you know what to do man, it's what they told you but I'm all alone and how did I get here and… here they come…

Rifle ready. Wait. Aim. Pull—

There's one and another and another… and here's one and…

My god, what am I doing?

"Someone, radio HQ – they're just civilians!"

I can't stop (another one) can't stop shooting… (another) One more look down the scope faces after faces I know him and her and where did they and how and…

Fuck, NO!

… and Carla. All dead, perfect shots to the head faces sickeningly torn off and blasted off skull caps and…

I'm still shooting, someone stop me, my (another) hands won't stop (another)…

Looking up across the ravine there's another Recon scout, red beret on a head with long dark brown hair blowing in her face, a heavy sniper rifle leveled in his direction. How long had she been there?

"Stop me, shoot me, make it stop!"

He eyes are cold and dark. She stands regal, menacing. I stand and I'm raising my rifle at her and I feel myself pull the trigger… She's hit on the forehead, her face is covered in blood but she still stares at me, I've shot her and she still stands, lowers her rifle and turns to leave me here alone with the damnation below me and—

"WHY COULDN'T YOU END MY PAIN?"

* * *

"Fucking… ungh?" he woke up nearly shouting, eyes watering and his chest soaked with sweat, and sat up abruptly with a thrash of his arms.

"OW, what the who the—who's there or I'll pin you to the wall!" She was up and had her .357 in hand before you could sneeze. Sonofa… he'd smacked her in the side when he'd woken up so abruptly, must've tossed and turned his way closer to her during the night.

"Cour," he croaked, his throat dry from sleep, trying to get her attention, instead getting her pistol aimed at his head from the sound of his voice. Shit she's still practically asleep… gonna shoot my brains out before she knows what she's doing…

"Cour! Shit, put that thing down, it's just me," he hissed urgently as he dodged his head to the side and away from her incoherent aiming.

"Wha..? Boone?"

"Yes, put it down… son of a…" he muttered as he saw her silhouette lower the gun and relax, her face staring down, remembering where she was. She sighed loudly and flopped back down onto the bed.

"Heck. Sorry 'bout that," she sounded disgusted.

He sat on the ledge of the bed, face in hands, elbows to knees, "Nah, no… I woke up with a start and hit you on accident. Can't blame you for the rude wake-up." It was just sinking in… the dreams were really bad again. They'd never really gone away, but they hadn't been so intense as to break into the waking world – mercifully, he wouldn't even remember most of what they were once he woke. But now… that one was almost as bad as when he'd come back to Novac after he'd found Carla, after he'd…

He huffed and crawled back to the pillow. He knew there wasn't much of a chance for more sleep.


	3. Hi, My Name Is

On to chapter 3. As always, reviews are loved and cherished!

* * *

"Hey…" he heard her pipe up after a good half-hour of him staring off into the dark room, trapped between the rock of his waking memories and the hard place that his twisted dreams took him in sleep. "You still up?"

"Yeah."

"Can't sleep?"

"Um. No."

"Same here."

Here it comes. She's gonna ask you about why you woke up flailing like a lunatic.

"Heart's still pounding from adrenaline… heh," she always found the opportunity to laugh at the strangest times, "never thought I'd wake up with a gun in my hand before my brain could catch up with me. I wake up kind of disoriented most mornings anyway, though."

Ok. Or not.

He had almost been too preoccupied with his own relief mixed with the constant feeling of loathing he had been wallowing in to notice the change in the Courier's voice at that last statement. Her voice sounded far away, somewhat sad, and, maybe for the first time, he heard it lacking the ever-present confidence that usually pervaded her very being. It bothered him somehow. It bothered him and brought up the fact that he knew absolutely nothing about her.

Come to think of it, you never even got her name. Every place she just says the same thing…

"Folks call me 'the Courier'."

Just went along with it. Never seemed to mind. Been with her for six weeks… six weeks and never got or asked for a name. Kind of an asshole thing to do.

He turned over onto his back and glanced over at her. She reclined, blanket half over her, hands and eyes focused on a brass shell that she turned over in her fingers, though her stare indicated she was thinking about far away things. He didn't want to talk about himself, but he'd rather be talking than sitting up with nothing but his thoughts for company while not being able to sleep. Maybe she wanted to talk about herself? No no, probably not. She never told anyone anything.

Oh damn it all. It was making him curious. But it was weird, even for a man of few words as he was to know nothing about even a traveling companion. And she was more than just that already – sister-in-arms, leader, steady presence.

"This might seem maybe a little rude to be asking now, but I realized that I never asked what your name is," he said, mouth making the words before he'd really decided that it was a good idea. Oh well, best keep going along with it. "Just kept calling you 'Courier' like you ask everyone else, never thought twice that you might have, you know, a name not just a moniker."

He heard her chuckle. "And what if my name really was Courier? Could I then be offended of your name-normative assumptions of all people?"

"I- I wasn't…" he stuttered for a moment until she laughed again.

"Aw relax, I'm just kidding around. I hadn't really noticed; everyone's calling me 'Courier' anyway. I never really asked you your first name either," she looked across the bed at him, dark eyes shining, playful, confident again. Great, knew I couldn't get out of this with out some 'give' too. "It's Craig, isn't it?"

"Yeah."

"Craig Boone…" she said as if to try it out for a ride, "Definitely got a good ring to it. Heard your first name from Manny back in Novac, but everyone else kept calling you Boone, so I never bothered with the rest of it."

"Not too many people have known me as Craig since I enlisted with the NCR," except Carla… "I don't really expect anyone to use it anymore."

"Gotcha," she replied, sitting up cross-legged to face him better. "The name's Mela, nice to meet you."

She grinned toothily. Mela. That's … nice.

"Mela," he nodded, "Just 'Mela'?"

Her face dropped ever so slightly. Shit.

"Never mind that—"

"No, it's ok…" she murmured, still playing with the brass in her fingers, looking away from him now, that far-away face she'd had earlier.

"Really, I overstepped my bounds," he asserted, embarrassed. And I thought she was going to be doing the pushing.

"I—well—maybe… I think someone should know."

Saying ominous crap like that… what are you some mutant or slaver or Legion (female legion?) or Enclave or pervert or…

She huffed loudly. "I think my name is Mela. Heck, that could be someone else's name, I don't know. I don't know a last name, I don't know a home, a job, friends, family… none of it."

Oh.

She kept her eyes down at the brass, glancing up here and there to read his expression in the gray morning light. "I was apparently working as a Mojave Express courier about three months ago. I must have been carrying something important, I don't know now what it was. Some Khans and a guy from the strip caught me, tied me up, took my parcel. I remember him, talking, his checked suit, shiny nine millimeter barrel right before my eyes and then it was loud and I felt a blow to my head and…"

He couldn't help but stare. Her eyes were wide, but only seeing the memory that she relayed to him, her hand unconsciously tracing up to the pink scar that ran along her hairline, a round scar from a 9mm bullet.

"I woke up a week later at the Doc's in Goodsprings. They'd buried me alive in the town cemetery. I'd still be there save for the fact that that robot called Victor dug me out…"

Victor. The cowboy robot that seemed to be stalking them. He'd seen it in Novac, and again at Boulder City.

She looked up at him now, eyes back in the present. "Doc patched me up as best he could, which, considering that I'm not dead or a drooling vegetable, is pretty good. Still have the slug in my head, though. He said he didn't have the equipment to get it out without causing more damage. So… I guess I'm what you'd call an old-fashioned amnesiac."

"Oh, I'm… that sucks," was all he could get out of his mouth at first. They sat in silence for a short while before he gathered himself over the shock of what she'd revealed to him to add anything else. "I'm guessing that Benny is the guy in the checkered suit?" he was pretty sure of this now, as he had heard her identify him in such a way, but he wanted to ask straight up.

"Yeah. He's the guy who stole my delivery and almost killed me."

"You're out for revenge then." That would be what would have driven him. That must be why she was looking for him. But she did so many other things along the way, was it really?

"Perhaps," she said, reserved, looking at the shell in her hand again. He wondered if she had found it in Goodsprings – had it once been part of the bullet that took her memories away? "I want to find him to find out what was so important that he needed three guys to capture and murder me over. I want to find out why a Securitron would be protecting me and following me. I mean, I guess if it was something small and petty, I'd return the favor right between his stupid eyes. I just have this feeling… doesn't all add up."

"I see," he was intrigued as well now that he knew her story. "So you really can't remember anything about yourself, save that name?"

"Solid memories… no," she smoothed her long dark hair over her shoulder to continue fidgeting, something she'd never do when she was talking to someone on the road. Must be a nervous thing. "But everything else about me seems to be there, I guess. I know how to do a lot of stuff, and I have a sense about me of what I believe is right or wrong, and I can tell if I've been somewhere when I arrive there… I just don't know how I know what I know," she laughed at that last part. "I remember… feelings. Emotions tied to things, to words. I mean, that's why I think that my name is Mela, because I remembered the name and feel a connection to it in some sort of positive way.

"Other than my name, I think I might be from California, and I was running away from something… I just have a strong feeling of escape, and that the Mojave and the Vegas area represent freedom to me. At first I thought maybe I was a slave somewhere, but people've told me I'm in too good condition for that. I dunno."

She met his eyes again. "I guess I'm not too concerned about my memories right now. Doc told me that they may or may not come back, and… I'm ok if they don't. Somehow I still know who I am and what's in my heart, and I'll follow that. I mean, I can't change it if I know or don't know who I was. But I've decided since I began out to look for Benny that I don't care who I was in the past – it's now that really matters."

"I… gosh. Darn it, Boone, I'm really dumping a lot on you. You don't need to know all of this crap. I kind of got carried away there – it's hard when you spend so much time thinking about something and you get the chance to talk about it finally. I'm sorry." She flopped back down to leaning against her pillow and put the brass back on the nightstand next to her.

He remained where he was, digesting that she'd just told him pretty much everything about her – all she was now was three months. To have three months of memories… he couldn't imagine. Maybe he'd be happy again if he couldn't remember the innocent lives he'd taken, if he couldn't remember the hollow look in Carla's eyes right before he'd… Maybe he could get someone to shoot him in the head. Maybe just shoot him. But enough about him… always about him…

She never ceased to catch him off guard, though. From being one of the most competent people he'd met on the Mojave, to finding out she was almost murdered, to knowing that she's lost her memories, to finding out she didn't care, she was turning out to be a complicated matter. Complicated, or complex. How often would you find someone who when they found themselves to be a blank slate only saw it as an opportunity to draw what they wanted to see instead of trying to figure out what was there before?

"I'm ok you told me all that… it's just a lot to discover all at once, you know?" he said back to her, trying his best to convey that he indeed meant it.

"Yeah… well, guess you know what the plan is… eventually," she grinned lopsidedly, knowing already that it vexed him on occasion how she tended to get sidetracked into helping whatever tom-dick-or-harry they met along the way (even more if it meant getting to use her gun, though it was entertaining to watch her be conflicted about trying to talk or shoot her way out of a situation.)

"I suppose this is where I give you your options straight out. I can't say I know what this is all headed to. It could all be nothing spectacular or… I could end up in a lot of trouble. I won't blame you if you don't want anything to do with my wild-checkered-suited-jerk chase. You look like you've gotten your bearings back by now."

And there it is. She had noticed. Just when he'd started to forget about that whole business, she'd been holding onto it all along, and she'd known how out of sorts he had been since everything shook down in Novac. He hadn't thought much about why she'd asked him along before – he wasn't doing much thinking then anyway – was he just something to be pitied?

He looked into her eyes, about to say something pointed, but he was met with the most earnest look on her face, dark eyes round and wide, her features, though not glamorous, were just cute enough to be disarming. Tanned, sturdy, tawny, nothing like any woman he'd been drawn to before… Carla had been small, delicate, fair, like a fairytale princess… and she…

Oh hell what the fuck are you even thinking about? She's doing that—that thing she does to people when she wants them to do what she's suggesting.

But she's not asking me to stay. She's not asking me to go either. But something about her face… is so damned honest. She's asking you what you want and nothing else.

But she looks like she wants me to stay.

"I'll stick around if you want me to. You've done me a solid, and helped me get out of Novac," probably would have drunk myself to death if I'd stayed there any longer… "It's always good to have someone watching your back."

"Awesome," she said enthusiastically, "It's even better having someone with a giant gun who can shoot stuff really far away watching your back!"

"Heh. Right," he added dryly, but with the pride he still carried around as a First Recon vet. He saw her yawn widely and rub at her eyes. He was feeling tired again too, despite all of this new information bouncing around in his head. "Should probably try and get a couple more hours of sleep. You said you wanted to check out McCarran tomorrow. It's a bit of a walk, and kind of dangerous."

"Oh yeah," she nodded, and started to nestle back down into the sheets. "You're gonna show me around your old haunts, right?"

"Sure."

He mimicked her and turned his pillow over once to get it to the right height and rolled to his side with his back to her. He breathed deep and closed his eyes.

"Hey Boone?"

"Yeah?"

"Thanks for listening to me. I… I feel like some of my burden's been lifted by telling someone. And that you didn't freak out. Anyway…. Just, thanks."

"No prob."

As he heard her breathing relax into the sounds of sleep, he wondered if she was trying to tell him something. Or, perhaps, he was just hearing what he already knew.


	4. Author's Note and Story Notes

Hi all. I've been going through and properly putting to rest stories I'm not working on anymore, and unfortunately, this one's getting the axe too. As a sad consolation to any interested parties, I've included my unedited story notes for the rest of the story. Thanks for reading.

Help I'm Alive: Story Notes

Ending alterations:

Independent NV. However, Cour makes arrangements with Colonel Hsu and Moore for retained presence in the Mojave. In return, she agrees to allow some of the electricity from Hoover into the NCR, and that HELIOS one is a joint operation with the Followers to study and use the technology. Courier has Yes Man throw General Oliver off the Dam, making Hsu general in the Mojave, and allowing her treaty with the NCR to stand.

Cour allows NCR to keep their embassy on the strip, and maintain bases at McCarran, Forlorn Hope, and mutiple outposts. She enlists Rangers, who are loyal to the Mojave, to begin training and bulding a Vegas-area guard, which she wants to police the greater area and allowing it to settle into civilization.

She invites the Followers in to study Mr House's technology in return for helping her keep Yes Man's programming from betraying her, as she's been worried about his AI's intentions from the start. Additionally, she names Arcade Gannon as her second, and trusts his insight in all matters.

All of this together causes much less instability in the Vegas region than would have with the normal regime change, though there is still quite a bit of restlessness after the Legion defeat. Thus when Cour is stricken after the battle is over, she is taken back to the 38 and Arcade proceeds to run things as if nothing is amiss. NCR is not informed of this, except for Hsu, who at this point has been a trusted ally for a while. He keeps the heat down by only meeting in the 38 and not mentioning that he has been talking with Yes Man and Arcade.

Arcade and Julie Farkas oversee her treatment, and send for help from Dr Henry at Jacobstown, and the Doc at goodsprings. From there, they need to raid two different vaults for medical components for surgery and neural regeneration. The companions break into two teams: Boone and Arcade with ED-E, and Cass with Veronica and Rex.

Cour is out of commission for a few weeks following the surgery (which was one week after she collapsed). Upon awakening, her memories start to return violently and painfully. At first they are unsure if she'll ever be herself, but after a couple of days she starts to have more clarity. And she reveals that she is the daughter of the Elder of Arroyo, and intended heir to the leadership there, which was what she was running away from to begin with. This coincides with a visit from ol' daddy, who recognized her on a holotape about the coup in New Vegas.

He is even more inscrutable than Cour, and wants to know what she plans to do, as he expects her to return home to her people, and the man she was supposed to marry (arranged/political). Cour seems small and childish again at first, and this complicates things with Boone, who is ready to step back and watch her go to the illustrious life she came from. Arcade then informs them that he discovered her to be pregnant while she was being treated, and that it seemed to be progressing well in spite of the surgery. This is enough of a wake up to Cour and Boone that what they had was more important, and that they had forged their own frontiers before, and would continue now and as long as they lived.

Cour tells her father that she is not going home just yet. She has too much to take care of in Vegas, but will return in a few years when things have settled down. She diplomatically informs him that she wishes to do a technology exchange to obtain GECK-like technologies to aid the development of farms around the Colorado. She then introduces Boone as her spouse, and bids him to apologize to her friend back in Arroyo, and hints that they are already expecting. A little frustrated, but not-so-secretly proud of his daughter, the Elder prepares to go home.

Epilogue of characters:

Cour and Boone: have a formal wedding in the 38, and their baby, a girl, arrives in due time. Sets up a joint government with the Followers, with a board of trustees and a generational-appointed head of Vegas, jocularly referred to as "the House". Boone serves as chief of Mojave Defense, and at times is still overwhelmed by how much of a divergence his life took from where he thought it would be. He and Cour had 2 more children, and spent time between Arroyo and New Vegas, building a strong alliance between the two areas. In time, Cour's father's health begins to fail and she must return to lead Arroyo, leaving Arcade as the House, but her oldest child, Carla, behind to train under Arcade for leadership. Cour and Boone still travel together as often as possible, always watching each others backs.

Cass: Sees opportunity to re-establish Cassidy Caravans after NCR throttles back on Supplies due to McGraffs and Crimson out of the way. She feels even closer to Cour now that she knows that their fathers were friends. Is crazy Aunt to the Boone kids. However, her alcoholism is never controlled, and she succumbs to her drinking in her early 60's.

Arcade: becomes over the next 5 years the effective leader of New Vegas. Is happy to run things wile Cour remains the publicly recognized leader. Helps establish a follower's hospital in Freeside, which is soon incorporated into New Vegas in general, using more technology gained from the study of Mr House's facility and databases. Never finds that special someone, but is content with his Followers family and the rest of the Courier's gang. Is able to make a positive legacy for the Enclave as his past inevitably comes to light.

Veronica: Never goes back to the Brotherhood, but wondered if she had any place to fit in. However, she frequently travels between arroyo and vegas with Cour, and finds that she fits in with the tinkerers in Arroyo, and becomes a key player on the new GECK project. She reconnects with her lost love in California and lives a long, fulfilling life.

Raul: same as game.

Lily: same as game.


End file.
